


H: Heart

by brokxnharry



Series: Teen Wolf A-Z Challenge (with songs) [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Derek Hale Can Have Nice Things, Grief/Mourning, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, referenced stydia, sterek fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 15:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11649264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokxnharry/pseuds/brokxnharry
Summary: The Sheriff's heart fails and Stiles is swarmed with all the things he was unable to handle.





	H: Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Song: Half the world away - Aurora

There was a kid sitting somewhere close by, moving a phone around in his small hands, tongue slightly protruding past his lips, eyes wide and curious. Stiles thought of the seven year old version of himself, searching for life in the hallways where only death could be found. Running around, drawing himself into the background of all those stories that weren't his. Hiding behind his father's legs, if someone came too close, if he felt small enough.

He thought he heard something, something falling, or breaking, or tearing. He looked away from the boy, eyes falling onto the man, collapsing against a wall, like it was the only thing keeping his world upright, the only thing that didn't have holes or cracks, that he could feel, breaking right through him. The man was piled up on the ground, hiding away from what the doctor was still speaking to him, and Stiles tried not to see his father's wrinkles forming by his eyes, tried not to see the sickening shade of red, invading the whites of his father's eyes for so long, that he'd forgotten what color they had once been.

He wanted to stand up, wanted to go there, and hold onto the man, and see if he'd smell like alcohol too. If he'd push away instinctively, the way his father once had. If the sound of him breaking, would be anything like his mother's favorite set of dishes, or the vase that she'd bought to keep the first rose his father had ever given her, as they'd crashed onto the floor, right before the sheriff had as well.

" He's my dad's best friend. I think there's something wrong with him." The kid spoke, startling Stiles, pulling him back in so aggressively, that Stiles was almost breathless, because the young boy was handing his phone to his mother, who had brown hair like Stiles' once had, and eyes that looked nothing like how Stiles had remembered his mother's to be, but Stiles could barely remember anything of her that his father hadn't told him about, and most of the pictures were in black and out, and fuck, he couldn't remember if she had his complexion, or if she was slightly paler. He couldn't remember the lyrics to the lullaby she whispered to him every night. He could only remember the melody. And the man was now throwing his arms around his friend –the kid's father- and there had never been anyone there for his own dad. He hadn't been able to let anyone in, because he'd just wanted his wife back, and he'd felt so fucking alone without her.

And no. Stiles needed his father to remind him, to tell him another story or two, that would familiarize that version of his mother that he'd barely met, but still had lost. Had continued to lose every day since. And Stiles couldn't breathe, because it was starting to smell like the medicine she hated most, and the gel they put on her aching muscles, and the mask Stiles had to put on, if he wanted to get close. The mask that he couldn't breathe through, couldn't breathe past, because it always clouded how his mother smelled, and he no longer knew if that was a good thing or not.

And the kid was clinging to his mother , staring at his father as he held onto his wrecked friend, and he wasn't Stiles. He never would be. Because his mother's brain wasn't wiping away all traces of him, and she wasn't so angry at the world and her body that gave out on her and at him for not coming earlier, for looking at her like she was the most important thing in the world, like he still expected her to be held together and strong despite the excruciating pain flaring through her. And his father didn't lose the one he'd loved most, along with a good chunk of himself. He was merely there, watching on, as it happened to someone else. Someone that would probably turn into Stiles' dad. Or into Stiles. And-

Stiles had his hands against his throat, easing the lumps away, caressing any air into passing through him, into filling his lungs, expanding them with something other than the smell of death and loss and **_mum_**. Stiles felt his knees trembling, almost giving out, but his eyes fell onto a figure that he'd known and loved and needed, something sounding like a cry, choking right out of him, before there were hands holding onto him, and he buckled.

" Fuck, Stiles, I got here as soon as I found out. Come on, breathe with me. It's going to be okay. Just breathe. I've got you. I've got you, Stiles, you're okay." Stiles nodded, forehead falling against something steady, something firm. Hands held against a chest, that beat steadily beneath his touch, almost reminding him how to do it. He thought he felt Melissa's hands touching somewhere by his back, putting her own head there, if only to ground him, before she pulled away, whispering something that didn't really break through the sound of his father crying something out that sounded like his mother's name, over and over and over again.

" Dad. He can’t, Derek. I can't do this again. I-"

" Shh. It's okay. Melissa caught me up. We should know more in a few hours, right? But they're optimistic. He's healthy enough for his age. And he's strong, Stiles. He'll pull through."

" But, heart failure, Derek. He- God. I prepared him for everything, told him how to beat every single supernatural creature I've ever known about, but.. this is his own body. It's always their bodies, fucking failing and- they never stand a chance." Stiles was laid onto one of the chairs, body hunched, bent, mostly to rest onto Derek who was on his knees, his hands unable to let go of Stiles just yet.

" It isn't the same thing, Stiles. It won't happen like that again. You're not losing him. He's not going to leave you."

Stiles clung to those words, to Derek's voice as he spoke them, nodding as the last of his anxiety, lost its grip on him, leaving him feeling tired down to his bones. Derek moved, and Stiles held closer, only easing away, when Derek promised that he wasn't going anywhere, was only trying to get comfortable. Derek laid him down, Stiles' head falling somewhere between Derek's stomach, and his lap, his legs spread out, although, they were closer to his chest than normal, like he was still trying to clog the pit that had formed in his stomach.

It felt like it was all dark and quiet, for barely a minute, like he'd only just blinked, but when he opened his eyes again, Scott was sitting on the floor, his head touching against Stiles' stomach, conversing with Derek about something or the other. Malia and Lydia and Kira were standing by the corner, with coffees and homemade sandwiches. Isaac standing between Boyd and Erica, who seemed to be mocking an irritated Liam. Parrish was surrounded by a small group of officers, along with Mason and Chris. Stiles tilted his head, looking up at Derek, who was nodding along at something Scott said, smiling, like Stiles had never seen him before. And Stiles almost smiled too, because Derek was so vibrant and lively and present. Derek was so incredibly **_there_** , and Stiles didn't know how to tell him he would have fallen apart if it wasn't for him, without accidentally doing so, if only to prove his point.

" Oh, Stiles, you're awake. Good. Feeling better now?" Derek asked, all kind and tender, like he was afraid Stiles would shatter, if he spoke too loud, expressed too hard.

" What time is it? How long has it been? How is my dad?" Stiles sat up, moving his neck around, to ease the tension there, cracking his bones that were so stiff, so stubborn.

" You've been out for like 8 hours now." Stiles' eyes widened, because he couldn't remember the last time his body had allowed him this kind of sleep, and it had to happen now, with his father in the hospital, and his heart failing against his better judgment.

" Dude, your dad was moved from the ICU, to a normal room. They took all the tubes out and everything, because he was breathing on his own. We all went in to see him, except for Derek of course, because he was kind of stuck. By the way, how do you not need to pee already? My bladder would have burst by now, if-"

" Scott."

" Right. Not the time. Your dad. Yeah, so the doctors said he'd need proper rehabilitation to get everything working properly again, and you'll have to carry on with that healthy diet you'd enforced, but other than that, everything is looking pretty good."

Stiles wanted to cry again, wanted to put his middle finger in the air, at whoever thought to take his father away from him. But he deflated, resting back against his chair, and putting his hands over his face. They now smelled of Derek and Scott and things that were unrelated to hospitals and death and loss and-

" You okay there, buddy? I know this must have been scary,"

" Terrifying, Scott. I thought,"

" Yeah. I know, Stiles. I know. But he's okay. Mum just went home after her shift, to change and freshen up, and get us more food, that isn't liquefied. Like, werewolves here, heightened senses and all, including taste. We can't handle this shit."

To Stiles' surprise, an honest to god laugh went past his lips. Derek joined in too. And the hospital that had always sounded like goodbyes and screams and cries, now sounded like joyful breathlessness, and panic easing away, and shoulders bumping together in unison and appreciation and so much **_good_** that Stiles had almost stopped believing in. But he wasn't alone, and neither was his dad, and that sense of togetherness, stitched something in Stiles' heart, that he hadn't known had been reopened, had been bleeding into his chest.

Melissa came back with food and non-alcoholic drinks as promised. When she saw Stiles, she opened her arms, and waited, till he found his fit there, and held on. She patted his back, kissing the shoulder that she had her head buried into, whispering something that sounded like relief, and a little bit of motherly love. He thought of his mother, and how her arms felt around him, and he decided that this was close enough. Good enough.

She took his hand, and guided him through the accumulating group of people, that were surrounding the food. She only let go, to tell Scott to share, to be a gentleman and hand the food out first, before eating his own share. He rolled his eyes, although, he passed the sandwich he had to Malia, who ate it whole, with an amused grin. Stiles watched on, with his arms crossed against his chest, but his whole body was smiling now. His eyes moved away, falling onto Derek's, who tilted his head to the side almost in questioning. Stiles nodded his silent confirmation, but Derek rose from his seat anyway, standing next to Stiles, imitating his posture.

" Having supernatural powers, it, uh, doesn't always help. Doesn't change anything. I, I think you're doing a great job taking care of your dad, Stiles." Something dimmed in Derek, his shoulders heavied down, only a little. Stiles almost missed it. Missed how his eyes stopped at Scott and his mother, for a bit too long, before moving around the pack. Missed how he sighed but made it seem like an exhale. How he blinked away something in his eyes, before opening them again.

Stiles took a step closer, then another one, until his shoulder was touching Derek's. He untangled his arms, dropping them by his side, but then, his fingers were fidgeting with Derek's shirt, until he let his own arms uncross. Stiles threaded his fingers between Derek's, squeezed, and didn't really bother to release.

" You're doing a great job taking care of everybody too, Derek." The air staggered as it fell past Derek's lips, his eyes leaving the pack behind, and just taking Stiles in. Memorizing how he looked, as he put Derek together.

" Yeah?" Derek sounded shaky, unsure.

" Yeah. I- I know I don't tell you this enough, but, I trust you, Derek. With my life. With all of theirs. I mean, look at them. Look at what you've done, what you've created. I, it's always been me and him. Just me and my dad. But now, I have you. And you have all of us too. And that's just, pretty fucking incredible, Derek." Stiles tried to look away, to give Derek some privacy, to feel what he needed to feel, show what he could no longer hold back, but his eyes were drawing him in, and he looked so sad, so haunted, that Stiles leaned in, brushing his lips against Derek's cheeks, leaving a kiss onto his skin.

Derek's skin absorbed how it felt, lining where Stiles' lips fell, coloring it in with shades of red and pink and purple the color of Stiles' lips when he was sick. Derek's eyes closed, he inhaled, and it felt like the first intake of air in years. Like he hadn't been able to breathe past the fire, until Stiles' scent tainted that with hope and belonging and something that could be love.

He heard someone gasp, thought it was him, or Stiles, but he opened his eyes, and Isaac had an arm pulled out, hanging in the air between Derek and Stiles, like he was trying to point between them.

" Dude!" Scott exclaimed, receiving a shove from his mother, who simply went back to distributing sandwiches, a smile tugging at her lips, that she hid behind her hair.

" I, uh, I'm going to see my dad." Stiles turned away, speeding down the hallway, knowing that Derek would be able to hear the leap in his heartbeat. And he did, laughing to himself, shaking his head slightly.

He heard someone clear their throat, and when he looked up, Scott was on his right, Malia on his left, while Erica and Boyd stood in front of him, looking all smug and devious.

" What?" Derek groaned, but there was no real bite to it. Nothing to back it up, really.

" Again. Werewolves. Heightened senses. We can **_smell_** it on you, Derek, fuck." Scott's features twisted slightly, but the sparkle in his eyes gave him away. The giddiness was coming off him in waves.

" Well then I'd suggest you block your nose from now on, because I haven't even started thinking about this, and you can already smell it, so when I start **_doing_** something about it, it's just going to-"

" Okay, okay, okay. Poking fun at this. Bad idea. Got it. Jesus Christ." Scott went back to where his mother stood, along with Kira, taking a sandwich, and just shoving it into his mouth, groaning at the intensifying scent Derek was sending his way, simply to piss him off.

Lydia followed Stiles to where his father was, waited outside the door, although, she could distantly hear his sniffles, his whispered _"thank god you're okay"_ , that he repeated under his breath, every time his dad said something funny, or touched him the way only he could. Stiles told him about all those who were waiting for him outside, about how his phone and Scott's had been going crazy since it'd happened, people wanting to know if he was okay, if there was anything for them to do. The sheriff smiled, but it was all weak and wet and sad, like he wanted to cry instead.

Stiles held onto his father's hands, telling him stories that had happened while he'd been out, a few that hadn't really, but he had to keep talking, until his father slowly fell asleep. Stiles leaned down, holding himself on top of his father, and simply drinking in his mere existence, before he walked out the door, sitting on the waiting chairs, next to Lydia.

" So, Derek, huh?" She tried to wiggle her eyebrows, but it looked wrong, on her normally graceful, sophisticated features.

" Nope, not doing this with you right now." Stiles stood to leave, to go back to the waiting area, and she followed, putting her arms around his shoulder, despite the height difference, and falling into a matching pace to his.

" I'm just saying, it's a bit of a downgrade if you ask me. I mean, from crushing on me for like 6 years, to Derek. He does have some nice eyes though. A well-built figure as well, I'll at least give him that. But, still, he's no Lydia Martin. Nowhere close actually." Stiles laughed, laying his own arm across her shoulder, and pulling her closer. Stiles and Lydia had been friends for most of their lives, before werewolves and banshees and kanimas. And Stiles had fallen into that comfortable thing with her, where he was there, and so was she, and the love he thought he held for her, morphed into a family love, rather than a lifelong crush. And he was okay with that, she seemed to be as well.

" No one ever will be, Lydia."

Stiles was standing at the end of the hallway, that led to the waiting area, his arms tangled with Lydia's, laughing against her hair that still smelled of strawberries, finding comfort in the familiar blue of her eyes. And when he looked away, Derek was staring, his features beaming at the sound echoing through the area, pouring a little more of life into him. And yeah, maybe Derek wasn't Lydia. But Stiles wasn't who he was when he'd thought he was falling for her. And he didn't really want to be, because **_this_** Stiles, was being looked at like he put the sun in the sky, and the stars somewhere in Derek's eyes, and he thought, no one has ever felt less alone than him.  


End file.
